Slightly-Public Argument
by canibeyourotp
Summary: Oneshot. In which Jay is an awkward goofball, Tim is too insecure to be real, and I write 'car park' because I'm not American. Mood whiplash abound. (Could be Jam pre-slash.)


The footage is going to shaky, blurring with every irritated gesture Jay makes. He's moving his hands wildly, the camera strap hugging the knuckles of his right hand, and his throat feels raw. Scratchy, almost, as though someone scraped a key through his voice box like it was the car of someone they hated.

Such a car was only a few metres away, and the owner of it was directly in front of him.

"What, you're just gonna _run off_ and leave me by myself—?!"

"I just want to _get out of here_, Jay—"

Jay's never felt so upset in his life. And that's saying something, with everything that's happened in the past few years. He's furious - why on earth is Tim telling him he wants to up and go? He could have just _gone_ and that would have been that. Job done. Finished. Over.

(It would have hurt more, but either way hurts. At least Tim had the decency, or, alternatively, the undisguised hatred of Jay, to be able to tell him up front about his plans to leave town.)

"I thought we were working together?!" he yells. "I thought we'd teamed up to get answers?! Well, I mean, apparently not, huh, you just want to quit and bolt for safety—"

"_Safety_? What safety? _Nowhere_ is safe, Jay!" Tim counters, eyes blazing. "I could run forever and never get away from- get away from that thing!"

"Then why are you going?" Jay asks, not understanding at all. It makes no sense to him. There's being separate, and then there's being separated, and he doesn't want either. "Where would you go to? Who would you go to? Hell, Tim, who would _I_ go to? You're my only friend in the entire world right now—"

Tim blinks, abruptly lowering his hands. His eyes widen with shock; fists relax uncertainly, shoulders slump, steps are taken backwards like something Jay said has pushed him in the chest. Jay's still tense with anger, but the reaction has surprised him. "What?" he asks, urgently, quietly, throwing a few quick glances to his surroundings.

"I'm your…?"

The words get stuck. Tim swallows, then tries to finish his sentence. "Uh, friend?"

There's a pause as the words sink in. Jay's eyebrows raise. Tim scratches the back of his neck and breaks eye contact, turning away in what looks to be embarrassment: "I'm… I didn't realise that's how you… Yeah."

Laughter bubbles up from Jay's chest, soothing the coarse feel to his throat. "What, did you think I hated you or something? You've saved my life. More times than you care to admit. And besides," he continues, "I've done some pretty malicious stuff to you, said things, put stuff online. I would've thought you'd be the one to hate me. Y'should."

"You've found out more than I ever did," Tim jumps in. "Besides…" He shrugs a little, like Entry #65 was an everyday event for him. "I don't think anyone would let anyone get taken by that thing as well…"

He could feel the corners of his eyes crease, shooting a small smile at the darker-haired man. "I don't think 'anyone' would have been forgiven for running away as easily as I was."

"I told you to run, stupid."

"I didn't tell you to run, though," Jay say suddenly, remembering the original topic. "Why the hell are you even planning on leaving?"

Tim eyes sweep over the gravel of the car park again, avoiding Jay's gaze. "I kinda figured I was slowing you up," he admits. "I was gonna tell you everything that I knew, or anything that might be of even the slightest use to you, I don't know, and then get out of here before I caused something else to happen. You don't need me around, Jay, I have enough problems without pulling you into them."

He can't help it - he starts to laugh again. "No, no," he snorts, waving his hands in a 'stop' motion when Tim looks at him with a hurt expression. "It's just… You're an idiot."

"Oh, thanks…"

And just like that, they're back to the same snarky, one-two kind of comments. Jay shifts his camera to the other hand, and holds out his right: "I'm sorry," he shrugs. "Friends?"

Tim rolls his eyes, and says something about Jay being an eight-year-old girl, but accepts the handshake anyway.

He doesn't even refuse, or protest at, the awkward one-armed hug that follows.


End file.
